


Snow in the Dark

by QuixoticMisnomer



Series: Ineffable Advent Calendar [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables, Established Relationship, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 15:30:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21657220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuixoticMisnomer/pseuds/QuixoticMisnomer
Summary: Ficlet for drawlight's 31 day advent calendar. A musing on the countryside night in the winter.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Advent Calendar [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560370
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	Snow in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).

The house is dark.

The Christmas lights turned off on their timer a few hours back, the last of the wine drunk- glasses left by the sink. The bedcovers were turned down, slid into with fond, tipsy whispers.

Out here, far from city lights, far from neighbors, it is dark. Proper dark. The kind that lives in the wilds and woods, and nips at our heels when we walk down the hallway at night. Out here it is a living thing, a darkness complete, pressing thickly at your arms, your ribs, your mouth, your eyes.

Or it was.

He stands, an old quilt slipping off sharp shoulders, an old body lashed to an older soul. Eyes that don’t blink. Lungs that don’t breathe. Still as stone, staring forward through old pane windows out into the world beyond.

After another minute, or another hour, the bed behind him whispers. They’d fought over those sheets, over those blankets. Fought over them in the mornings as he pulled them over himself, leaving his bedmate bereft. Fought over them in the overpriced home goods store, just because you love someone doesn’t mean you suddenly agree on color.

The bed whispers again, red flannel sheets purring against each other, as the occupant finally stood and left it’s warmth. Soft footsteps creep towards the still figure, padding carefully over discarded clothes and stacks of books.

“What is it?” He whispers, reaching out a broad hand, reaching out with a full heart, reaching out for the glow and spark of a beloved’s skin.

The still figure pauses, taking in a final glance before looking down at his own heart. His heart that lives in the spark of wonder lighting up blue eyes, in the tinkling laugh of joy. It set itself deep in that blonde furred chest peeking out of a stolen black t shirt, and has refused to come back for 6,000 years. It’s safe there, now he knows, and he has long since given up on it coming back.

“I forgot”. Crowley looks back out the window where in the spring there will be a garden to see. But today the first snow of winter has just set out a blanket of fine white, covering the leafless rose bushes and apple trees.

Aziraphale winds an arm around him, pulling the old serpent in to his side. Crowley gives in easily, bending his whole sleight weight against him, leaning his head down on his shoulder, where it receives an affectionate, though sleepy kiss at the crown.

“Forgot what sweetheart?”

Crowley scowls out of habit, but he’ll not rise to the baiting, not groan at being called such fluffy endearments. Instead he raises a hand and points out the window.

“I forgot how it could _glow”_.

Aziraphale tears his face away from the top of Crowley’s tousled auburn hair, his nose had been so happily buried there, and looks.

It’s dark, as dark as it will ever get here. The sun is the furthest it will be from the place, the night the longest. Yet soft, blue light is pouring into their bedroom.

So many years in the city had made him forget too. Every street corner now held the fat yellow light of street lamps. The whole of London itself one giant hazy light that every night made the clouds reflect back a brownish purple at night. Even on clear nights, only a few star’s made it past the light pollution of millions of electrical lights pushing back at the darkness. Even the moon seemed a dim bauble at times. Snow there too rarely stayed white for long, was pushed off sidewalks and streets as quick as possible.

But here, in the deep, living darkness of this country night, the snow was a perfect sheet of white. And that white glowed, a soft bluish glow, reflecting back the moonlight and starlight. It was so bright every detail in the sleeping garden could be made out, from the snow-buried bench he liked to read on to the pile of empty clay pots left by the gate for next season.

The moon itself seemed a blazing iridescent torch, hung amidst a riot of twinkling stars, all tumbling through blue-purple-black swirls over the horizon.

It seemed so glorious and otherworldly- a place that could only been found or a secret that could only be read, when all other lights had gone out. When things were at their darkest.

He looked back down at the man curled up against his side. A pleased, fascinated smile creased Crowley’s glowing face, rendering it calm and lovely in the snowlight.

“I love you.” Aziraphale says, not for the first time. Though this time his voice wavers as a happy tear slides down his cheek.


End file.
